


Closer

by kazzaroo



Series: Odi, Awake [2]
Category: Humans (TV)
Genre: Baking as Love, Gen, Trying to Be Useful, being brave, moving forward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-10-08 20:10:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10395108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kazzaroo/pseuds/kazzaroo
Summary: There's a difference between being alive and living, and the pain of only one of the two is worth it.





	

He remembers tanned skin. Mutton chops and far thicker hair, only just beginning to grey at the temples. Trousers that flared out too far at the bottoms. A ditsy floral print dress and a pair of sunglasses whose frames were large and round and altogether insectile. It was some moment from a few decades ago when Van Morrison wouldn’t stay off the turntable and the Millicans had tried keeping bees. Mattie’s t-shirt had been the trigger. The golden-mustard hue had transported his thoughts back to that snapshot of the 70s when George had been sporting one in what Odi is certain was the identical shade of yellow.  
  
With this he finds himself thinking of faces, ones that are no longer present. That sun-browned skin across George's forehead had been remarkably smooth all those years ago, and Mary's equally free of wrinkles, of the liver spots that had mottled her appearance nearer the end. So young by human reckoning, the pair of them. So alive. He recalls George's voice now, the file only partially corrupted, as he had once provided narration for the very same capture in a tone rich with nostalgia. _“That dress. I loved it when she'd wear that one…” A chuckle, a sigh. "I remember that much at least.”_  
  
What had Odi said to him at the time? Had his processors determined that there was nothing to be said, really? All organic life must end, and perhaps he had calculated that platitudes cannot soothe wounds so deep, so permanent. Had he simply and absently patted his hand - this person whom he may as well have called _father_ for all the paternal love George had given him - and suggested they turn in the old album to the next page? That they move on past the moment, and closer to the end? For that is the direction they had been moving in anyway, consciously or not. Closer and closer, all the while.  
  
Is that how it had been? He can’t remember.  
  
Death as a concept is surely so vast and unfathomable that he doesn’t understand how someone is supposed to accept it, let alone endure when death touches their lives in a personal way, claims someone they love and whisks them off, never to return. Closer to the end, closer, closer, until gone. Gone, forever. The thought makes him want to…he doesn’t quite know.  
  
Cry? He cannot, possessing the need but not the ability.  
  
Give up? He must not, he supposes. George would neither want that, nor approve of it.  
  
Faces, ones that are gone, ones that are right here in front of him.  
  
Mattie would not approve of it either.  
  
This thought springs to his mind in a sudden rush as he hears her crow triumphantly at Toby Hawkins from the lounge. He can just see them from here if he peers out the doorway to the kitchen. Sophie sits more or less inert on the opposite end of the couch, silently watching the others compete at a video game displayed on the television. Mattie is winning. Mattie is very gifted with electronics of all kinds. After all, she had mended him.  
  
Giving the contents of his bowl a quick stir, he reaches for more ingredients from the cupboard, his repaired limbs functioning smoothly. Mattie had been responsible for this too, his second fix, though indirectly. She had contacted a friend of a friend who was able to discreetly make the restorations. They had put him to rights, and then made the offhand comment that, though his series of Synth is ostensibly obsolete, with similar repairs and upgrades they figured he could stay up and running forever.  
  
Forever.  
  
That one may be more difficult to grapple with than even death, for it is a concept indivisibly connected with the nature and circumstances of his own existence. He is _alive_. Truly alive in a manufactured shell. And he can’t help but ponder the ramifications of a synthetic body and a now technically infinite consciousness. If this man-made model his mind lives inside were to be properly maintained, _would_ he simply live on indefinitely? Forever? He has already outlasted his first family, his first set of familiar faces. What if he lives on, after these new faces he is coming to know and care for are also gone?  
  
He doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want to lose anyone else.  
  
He may still not know exactly what he _does_ want, but the list of what he _doesn’t_ is growing longer all the while.  
  
All of this, as he swirls an inky dollop of molasses through the mix of biscuit dough in the works, ginger and cinnamon, perfect for this weekend’s sudden cold snap. It’s something to do. It’s something to share with others. With Sophie, who seems always to be sad or pensive or empty, who loves ginger. With Toby Hawkins, who will eat practically anything. With Mattie, maybe. Does she like ginger? He knows she likes cinnamon, ever liberally dusting it atop her mugs of hot cocoa.  
  
It isn’t much. But he wants to be of use. He wants to do more than turning pages without comment, wants to be more than an eternal bystander to others’ pain, to others' happiness. As shattering as they are, he wants to continue feeling these things for himself for as long as he can.  
  
So that makes a few things he wants.  
  
Start small, he tells himself. Start small. It’s something. Ginger snaps and being there to hold their hands. Moving closer together even if we’re all moving towards the end. Even if they are and you’re not. Watch their faces, share their pain. Share more than that.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Those tags are like beautiful music, I mean, _look at them._ If only we all lived like that.
> 
> Let me know how you're liking this series! Along with growth, bravery, usefulness, and love-infused baked goods, comments and kudos make the world go 'round. <3


End file.
